


In which Damian is ill and Tim is of use

by narfiffiftic (maladictive)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maladictive/pseuds/narfiffiftic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian was so tired, he put his head down, laying it on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, telling himself he’d rest for a bit, before walking the long journey back to his bed. He fell asleep, shivering, drooling into a puddle, and awoke to the smell of his own stale breath mixed with Dick Grayson’s familiar scent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Damian is ill and Tim is of use

 

Damian was ill again that night, broken blood vessels under his eyes, on his eyelids, the healthy parts of his skin contrasting with the freckle like bursts of red and purple. It came of vomiting non-stop, and he hadn’t looked in the mirror long enough to notice the spots, since lifting his head brought up more bile. He knew he was badly sick, that he should tell someone, but something had him thinking that he _just couldn’t let Grayson know._

He was so tired, he put his head down, laying it on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, telling himself he’d rest for a bit, before walking the long journey back to his bed. Damian fell asleep, shivering, drooling into a puddle, and awoke to the smell of his own stale breath mixed with Dick Grayson’s familiar scent.

Dick was wiping his face, ignoring the mess in the toilet, he had a clean set of clothes beside him, and Damian wasn’t all right with this.

He wasn’t okay. He snapped at Dick, ashamed that he had been found in this state, a mess, lying on the floor, beside a soiled toilet. Damian didn’t want Dick seeing him like this, and he was as harsh as he had ever been with him. It was clear that Dick didn’t mind the smell, Damian’s breath, that he would never make fun of him for this. If Damian were reasonable, he’d ease up a bit, but in this state of shame and mortification, he was irrational. He kicked Dick in the stomach in an effort to get away. Moments passed, Damian was angry, but he felt ill again.

“Okay, I’ll leave, but if you need anything call me. Or, if you don’t want me, call Alfred, you’re off patrol tonight, tomorrow and until I decide you're better." Dick’s voice was clear and unaffected; he stood and left Damian on the bathroom floor, hunched over in pain.

He left Damian feeling sick to his stomach, in a different way than last night, and fighting the urge to stop Dick. Dick was doing what he thought Damian wanted, because Damian had told him to. 

Damian let Dick leave him, and he didn’t know if he was the victim here, or the one to blame. All he knew was that Grayson couldn’t know; couldn’t see him like this, but as soon as Dick left, he began to agonize.

 

He stayed in bed that day, reading and drawing, waiting for Dick to come in with movies or a snack, something Dick-like of that sort. Alfred came by twice, to check on him and give him medicine, and again to give him a hybrid of lunch and dinner.

Damian didn’t perk up each time the door opened, but he did focus his attention on it in the corner of his vision when he heard footsteps.

He felt his heart sink when night fell and Dick hadn’t returned. He fell asleep wondering if Batman would die tonight on patrol, since Damian wasn’t there to help him, and he realized that he didn't at all like how that made him feel.

At dawn Damian woke, getting out of bed, feet bare and cold, and made his way down the penthouse’s main corridor. He saw that Dick’s door was ajar, and peeked in to see the man nearly naked and sprawled over what seemed like all of creation, like he hadn’t a care in the world. 

Damian took a step back, simultaneously relieved and annoyed. He had lost sleep over this, and it was clear that his mentor was fine, so why did he feel like he had lost something?

* * *

 

Tim was shaken out of his work-trance by his new apartment’s buzzer. He groaned, leaning back in his swivel chair, rubbing his eyes and then slapping his face. He got up and made his way past piles of cardboard boxes and stacks of books, he had yet to unpack properly and it was killing him slowly. He was just so _busy_ at the company, and he came back tired and got up early to work, and squeezed in patrols and it really wasn’t a good time right now.

He looked through the keyhole, it was hard to see in the dark hallway, but he recognized the figure. And no. He absolutely did not need this, so he opened the door a fraction, chain in place, and told Damian Wayne to shove off and bother Dick.

Damian, in the time between one blink and the next, brought his hand out with crashing force to stop Tim from closing the door.

Tim’s lightning swift close the door technique specialized for stopping pushy salesmen and door-to-door missionaries was vanquished by Damian’s single move. Kid was strong.

What was he doing here?

Tim felt his good person instincts take over, and he sighed, closing the door to undo the chain, jerking his head for Damian to move his hand. Damian waited till the door was open, and then a moment further, until Tim moved his hand in a hasty “come in already” movement.

Ever since Bruce came back, the kid had been a bit more behaved, once it became clear that he and Dick were going to stay partners, that Tim wasn't hankering for Robin or trying to ensnare Dick. Tim felt an old anger rising in him. It was childish, and he knew it, but he had been there _longer_ than Damian and he knew Dick better and why was Damian the one who…?

He still didn’t know what Damian was doing here. He fidgeted under Damian’s hard stare. So much like Bruce’s stare, but also completely different, and he scrambled for something to say.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Tim cursed himself; he couldn’t offer coffee to a kid.

“That would be acceptable,” or maybe he could, this wasn’t really a kid after all. Damian looked small, almost wan, but he was Damian so maybe it was exhaustion from patrol. He was only eleven after all.

Tim had a pot going quickly, fueled as he was by his awkward desire to be doing something _vigorously productive_ to avoid Damian and his blank gaze.

“So…”

Damian snorted, and Tim felt like dangling him by the ankles out the balcony, but refrained and contented himself with a look of scorn.

Damian seemed to realize where he was, and whose hospitality he was straining, and looked away quickly.

“I imagine you came here for a reason.” Tim handed him a mug of coffee. He hoped it was hot enough to scald Damian’s tongue and make him unable to talk, then he could go home and Tim could get back to work, but he realized how dumb this was and stopped his thoughts in their tracks.

Damian said nothing, and Tim was getting very annoyed and very impatient. He was about to snap, and tell Damian to _really_ get lost, when he noticed how white the boy’s knuckles were, how tense his shoulders looked, and he groaned. He might as well destroy the night entirely, he couldn’t call Cass in Hong Kong with Damian around, he’d be a total snot.

So Tim asked Damian if he’d join him for dinner, and was shocked to get a quick and panicked “yes.”

Damian cleared his throat, and “Yes, I will stay for dinner.” Like a little prince. 

Tim really wanted to try out the ankle-balcony thing, but he figured he might as well heat up Steph’s favorite super spicy burritos that she craved whenever she was over, and watch Damian struggle with the runny hot sauce and slightly soggy tortilla.

It’d be an experience.

* * *

 

It… was an experience.

Damian did struggle at first, and then he asked for a knife and fork, and ate the burrito that way. Tim tried to tell him how unthinkable that was, but all he had gotten in response was a taciturn _look._ Okay.

Damian didn’t know how to eat a burrito. That was entirely okay, Tim would inform Cass and Dick and Steph of this the next time the four of them met, when Cass came home for a visit.

Damian also didn’t know how to carry a proper conversation, since he sat there eating stiffly, and Tim sat there sipping at his coffee, and both of them were sitting very silently.

Damian finally finished, and Tim sort of realized that the kid had eaten like someone ravenous, even though he was eating politely with a knife and fork.

Tim was lost, and decided to make more coffee.  He got up and turned his back on Damian.

“I was ill, and Dick told me not to go on patrol.” Well.

Tim kept his back to Damian, how lucky that he had turned it in the first place, and said: “That’s what you do with sick people, you take care that they don’t overexert themselves.”

“I am… aware of that, Drake.” Tim rolled his eyes, but was kind enough to keep his back to Damian.

“So what’s the issue?” he was now tapping his fingers impatiently? Nervously? Angrily? Tim couldn’t tell with his back to Damian.

“I may have… I was not in good condition, Grayson found me… that way.”

Dick found him in a not good position, and Damian was telling Tim that? Dick would have carried the secret forever; Dick was a good man, so why tell Tim?

Damian didn’t trust him, and this didn’t make sense.

“He left me, when I asked him to.”

“You’re not telling me everything, you’re leaving stuff out, that’s not Dick.”

Silence. Okay, Damian did not ask Dick to leave. He probably forced him to.

“Why are you telling me this?” Tim turned around, Damian’s communication skills be damned.

“I am still sick.” Damian did look horrid. Broken blood vessels and bruised eyes, his face was looking peaky and his posture was shot. “I am not allowed to patrol, it has been three days, and I am unable to sleep.”

Tim felt some guilt at his lack of concern. Damian had Dick, he’d be fine, he’d be more than fine; so what in heaven’s name was the problem here? Why drag Tim into this?

“I… it was you who said Batman needed a Robin.” Tim’s blood ran cold. His mind blanked and no. He wasn’t hearing this.

“Dick wants to take me to see a doctor tomorrow, just in case, but I have diagnosed myself already.” he paused. “It is nothing too detrimental, if it were I would have left immediately,” Left where? Tim was still staring at Damian. He did feel a bit bad that Damian knew what his mind leapt to.

“It is also natural.” Tim nodded, not pollen or a poison then. “Father knows about it.” Tim was releived, Bruce would know what to do, even if he was overseas at the moment. Just one more thing off Tim's back. “We are both aware of what I am… ill with, and he has already chastised me for my irresponsibility, and he estimates that I will be fine in a month."

“A month?” Tim was taken aback.

“It’s what would have been bad influenza but—“ Damian stopped there, looking awkward. “The symptoms will wear off.”

Tim had an idea of what this was about. Damian had been sick for a while, but he was stubborn and kept it from everyone, until finally it got so bad that Dick caught him... unconscious, vomiting, feverish? By then it would have become a very dangerous case of exhaustion, stress, _plus_ the flu. Possibly a large amount of guilt and anxiety too, after Dick may have lost his temper. But this was all just Tim speculating. Which meant of course that one of the possibilities was the correct one.

“I need you to be with Grayson, and I am allowing you to act in Robin’s place while I am unable to.” Tim wasn’t fooled. “As Red Robin of course, but you will remain by Grayson’s side as he patrols.”

“You’re pretty determined, aren’t you?”

“Slightly.”

Tim rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was getting a little creeped out by how relaxed the conversation had gotten.

“Does Dick know?”

“Not about… this, but he’s still very angry with me for keeping my condition from him.” He looked away, “He is unhappy, and I am _grounded_ but I can’t… let Grayson patrol alone.” He looked annoyed. "He will yell himself blue when he sees I'm gone."

Tim almost wanted to say no to the kid, but he couldn’t bring himself to, and Tim sort of saw what Dick meant when he had said Damian needed them. He was hopeless; he couldn’t even admit outright that he was worried about his brother. The two were in the middle of their first fight as brothers, and not awkward partners, Tim realized.

“Dick can take care of himself.” Tim told him.

“I know!” It was the first strong emotion Tim had seen in Damian that night, that wasn’t anger or annoyance. It was desperation.

Damian was desperate.

“Alright, okay, relax, I’ll do it.” Tim put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, “Just get better, you’re freaking me out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this was largely to practice writing Tim Drake, and a little bit to make Tim and Damian talk, without Damian picking a fight and poking old wounds, and without Tim doing exactly the same thing to Damian, and the only things they clearly have in common are Dick and Robin and Bruce.


End file.
